Prelude
by phabulousphantom
Summary: Covering how Grell(e) and Sebastian got their unlikely start, this is background for a second story coming soon. It takes place in the early 1890s, well after Sebastian has consumed Ciel's soul. I've used the feminized spelling of Grell(e)'s name as well as female pronouns as part of my own interpretation of the character.
1. Part 1

Sebastian had never quite noticed before, but up close, Grelle was actually rather _lovely_. Those bright eyes—clear, Shinigami green, and ringed. Pale porcelain skin so ethereal it almost seemed to glow. Against it, thick eyelashes, long and black and striking. The teeth—the maddening, confusing teeth that fit perfectly together, perfectly white. From a distance Grelle had always seemed to him a messy mass of red, but up close, up _very_ close, he could see the subtlety—the hints and shades of crimson, cherry, rose that played and blended together expertly, precisely. Up close, he began to perceive Grelle as Grelle perceived himself, no… _herself._ And she was beautiful.

"Sebastian?"

Grelle hardly ever used his full name, and as she raised an eyebrow he began to realize that he must have been looking at her intently for some time. A hint of a blush had crept up into her cheeks. Grelle had turned red over him countless times, but never with such modesty. _Modest_ was hardly a word he would use to describe Grelle at all.

"Ah, forgive me." He cleared his throat, stepped back. "I…"

What? What could he say?

"I apologize. Do forgive me."

"You've never looked at me like _that_." She bent her wrist back, placed the hand on her hip and inspected him, her eyebrow still up in the air, accusing.

He looked back at her, mute. Still he had nothing to say. He would never lie, and the truth was far too strange to utter, so he kept silent. Slowly, an expression of clarity began to overtake Grelle's features. Her hand slipped from her hip, her eyebrow lowered. She understood.

"Sebastian?"

He turned on his heel and moved swiftly away, and if Grelle had been human he might have escaped, but a reaper could be equally fast as a demon, and Grelle had always been rather a quick draw. She caught his sleeve, slipped a grip around his wrist, and pulled him back, pulling herself forward.

"You usually look at me with such disgust."

"Forgive me, Grelle, and let me go."

He tried to move away, but she followed, and swiftly. Her hold remained tight.

"No."

Either he would have to fight her or attempt to explain his sudden change of heart, neither of which was possible. He stood motionless, staring at the ground. How had this happened? What had changed? As he thought back, he began to realize the slightest of shifts leading up to this moment—chance encounters with Grelle, finding her antics a little more amusing than irritating, a subtle shift in her conduct, a switch from sincerity to jest, and over it all a general lessening of his dislike until it had dissipated altogether without his noticing. How he had developed an attraction to her was another matter completely. One he could not fathom. It _had_ come on rather suddenly.

He'd been too quiet too long for Grelle's taste. "Say something," she prompted. "So I know I'm not imagining things."

"I don't know what to say, Grelle."

"Well, _think_."

So demanding. That made him smile. "I…" He looked up to face her. "I had never noticed until now how beautiful you are."

The color drained instantly from her face, leaving her pale. Her mouth hung open a little. She was shocked. She'd chased after and teased him for so long, it had become a joke to her, probably no longer even a flight of fancy. He had always been a pretty face, something she could look at, but never something she could obtain. He would have said the same thing half an hour ago, and had he not been standing there at that moment, feeling the way he felt, would still be saying it now.

Grelle blinked. "You're serious."

"I am."

"How can you be serious?"

Sebastian couldn't help but laugh, a pathetic little chuckle. "I don't know. I can't explain it." He shook his head, but as he looked at her he had to smile.

She was astonished. "You really are truly and properly serious, aren't you?"

It was a statement and a tag question. She could see it in him well enough that he was serious. And she came forward, testing the waters. She was surprised when he did not move away, surprised when she put her arms around his neck and he allowed her, and surprised still when he put his own arms around her waist.

A self-deprecating laugh slipped from her lips. "I've thought a lot about what this might be like, but…never with any expectation."

"Do I really seem so distant?"

"Have you _seen_ you?"

He laughed at that and drew her in, holding her quietly for a moment. She was cool, almost winter in his arms—something he had not noticed before but must have had something to do with her being a reaper. Was this what he wanted? Did he truly want Grelle? This path could lead him anywhere, but then…right _now_ she was what he wanted. Would that be enough for her?

"I don't know if I can ever love you, Grelle," he said.

"I'm not asking you to love me," she replied and pulled back to look at him with an honest, open face. "I'm asking you to let _me_ love _you_."

Well? There was no way he could know what he was getting himself into. A future with Grelle, a relationship, friendship, no, even a _tolerance_ for her had once seemed out of the question. But now this garishness had turned to beauty, absurdity to charm. A creature he had once despised and detested was now someone he desired. Logic could not explain it, nor could reason piece it out. It was a phenomenon. But perhaps it had been a long time coming.

He cupped her chin in his hand and smiled. "All right, then," he said. "Love me."

"Hm-hm." Her lips curled up as she laughed, exposing her sharp, shining teeth. "Always have, Sebas-chan."

She placed her hand around the back of his neck and used it as an anchor to pull herself up to meet his lips. She kissed him then, and—despite all of what he had assumed was evidence to the contrary—was actually rather _good_ at it. At first, it surprised him, but as she continued he became lost in it, lost in her, and he couldn't help himself—he kissed her back.


	2. Part 2

She'd fallen asleep tucked under his arm with her head on his shoulder and had pulled the sheets right up to her throat below her chin. He looked at her through the dark under what little light flickered out from the dying embers in the hearth. Her scarlet hair swept out all over, not a hint of expression anywhere in her face, just stillness. She was more beautiful to him now than he had ever imagined she could be.

He'd acted out of genuine desire—something he had never before done, or even considered possible. Human pleasure had always been a tool, a means to an end, a way to get information or some other concrete measure, not something he took on for himself or enjoyed. But with Grelle…it was _different_. Exciting. She had ignited him—made him come alive with a fire he had never before felt or thought he could feel.

And it was for that reason he was determined never to let her out of his sight. This strange something that she had, this _power_ over him, he couldn't risk letting it go. It was in her coolness—the icy aura that swept off her skin and balanced the heat his own body generated.

Oh, he wanted her to be awake so he could kiss her, awake so he could hear her voice. Awake so he could make certain his feelings were not false—embrace her a thousand more times and forever so that this fire would never go out. It was burning a hole through his heart even as he watched her sleep, and he suspected that the more time he spent with Grelle, the faster her flames would consume him.

And, oh, how he wanted to be consumed.

For how long did she need to sleep? He ought not to wake her, but he found himself brushing his fingers down the length of her nose and across the line of her cheek and she stirred at his touch, her eyelids fluttering open softly.

For a moment, she actually looked surprised to see him—just a little spark at the back of her eye—but it faded into a somnolent smile as she relaxed.

"I shouldn't have woken you," he said.

"It's all right," she replied, but that was all.

What ought he to say to her? What were the words that would make her understand the desperation, his sudden need for her, clawing at his heart and the back of his mind? He didn't understand it himself. In all his years he'd never experienced anything like it before.

"You are very beautiful, Grelle," were the words he decided on, and smoothed her hair away from her face, though they did not at all capture what he wanted to convey.

Her eyes flicked down, away from his. "Thank you," she said softly.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing—just…"

A little breath escaped her lips and her whole expression turned downcast. Why? What was this? He had not set out to upset her, but it seemed he had. Baited and wary, he waited and watched as she strung words into sentences in her head before she spoke.

"I never thought that this would happen," she whispered, "and now that it has, and so fast, I don't know what to make of it." She paused and her brows drew together, making a lovely line between them. "I can't help but feel that this is it. You've had your way and now it's over and you're finished with me and I'll actually be one of those girls. I'll be one of those girls that I've pretended to be for so long…"

"No."

How could she think that? She couldn't think that. He wouldn't allow it. He kissed her.

" _No._ "

He kissed her again.

"You're _wrong_ , Grelle. All I _want_ is you. Now. _Always_. Don't say those things."

He pressed his mouth to hers with intent, he had to make her see, but she was still sad. He could feel it in the tension in her lips and he pulled back to look at her face while he held it in his hands. She looked back at him, a true and ringing sorrow in her green, green eyes that pricked his heart.

He leaned in until the tip of his nose touched hers, and he whispered, "I am _far_ from finished with you."

The slightest jolt passed through her and she searched his eyes intensely, looking for the lie that was not there. And when she did not find it, he saw her rejoice, and when she kissed him it was powerful and full of that passion which fueled the fire in his breast. And he welcomed it, running his fingers through the miles of her red, red hair even as she knotted her hands up in his.

It was two days before they left his apartments, and even then only because they both knew how much trouble Grelle would face for missing collections, but he was determined to stay with her. Whatever the punishment the reapers decided to assign, he would see her through it. If it was suspension, he would stand outside of Dispatch until she was free.


	3. Part 3

Grelle got a week—a week to sit in a room alone and think, rethink, and overthink about every tiny detail of every second of her time with Sebastian. A week's suspension, a week with nothing to do but analyze _everything_. She nearly drove herself mad.

 _What_ had come over Sebastian? And what had possessed him since? He'd changed, intensely, there was no denying that, but _why?_

She tore her heart into little pieces going over it again and again and back and forth. She finally had what she'd always wanted. But then…why was she so scared?

Half of her wished her suspension would never end, that she'd be stuck at Dispatch for the rest of her life and would never have to see Sebastian again. The other half wanted so horrifically to be in his arms once more it hurt. She never would have guessed she could be so conflicted, but she never would have guessed that what _had_ happened _could_ happen.

The day before she was due to be released, she caught wind of some news that was causing quite a stir among the rest of the staff. It was whispered, as every conversation that happened outside her cell was, but not carefully. They were stupid to think that she wouldn't be eavesdropping, that she wasn't eavesdropping all the time. It was the only thing she had to do outside of rehashing the Sebastian Situation, and she relished in it even though nobody had hardly anything interesting to say. Office gossip, and none of it very good. Except this one time.

"It's _still_ out there."

A new babysitter had arrived, she'd heard the footsteps, and had heard the voice before though she didn't care who it was. Conversation only happened when whoever was guarding her traded out with someone else. She perked her ears up to listen to the response.

"The demon?"

Her heart beat once, powerfully, and sent a bolt through her entire being. What demon?

"Mm-hm. Still maintaining the same statement, too."

A laugh. "No."

"Yes. 'It's waiting for Grelle Sutcliff and it's not going anywhere.'"

They continued to talk about her probably but she didn't hear them. Sebastian. It was him. It had to be. He was _outside?_ He was _waiting_ for her? Whose life had she wandered into because it was _not_ her own. Her heart beat quick, over and over, drowning out the sound of her own thoughts, making her limbs feel light, floaty, almost sick. Had he been out there the whole time? And if so…why?


	4. Part 4

The following evening, Grelle departed Dispatch on timid feet. The current babysitter let her out, led her down to the Board for a scolding, and pushed her out the door with a fresh stack of papers with souls to collect. Back to work already. Even so, she hesitated when she came to the front door. Was Sebastian really outside? The others couldn't have been talking about any other demon, but if it _was_ Sebastian, was he still there? What did he want from her? She couldn't guess.

Swallowing, she opened the door and stepped out into the dusky air. She drew in a deep breath. So much better outside. But the breath caught in her throat. She could see him—just there, a little ways beyond the light of the gas lamp sitting on a bench on the street.

It was no use. He'd seen her see him. She couldn't just go running, but she didn't know how to face her demon. For the first time in a long time a bit of embarrassment had crept into her conscious. Embarrassed was not her thing—not at _all_. She was _Grelle_ she was never embarrassed. And yet… Sebastian rose to his feet and she lingered just beyond the doorway. Her legs wouldn't move. They were scared.

He could only come so close to Dispatch before a hoard of Shinigami would descend upon him in a murderous storm, but he seemed to sense the energy and stopped several yards from where Grelle stood at the door. Still she couldn't get her legs working. The pair of them just stood there and looked at each other—or rather, Sebastian looked at _her_ and _she_ looked at the ground.

"I've been waiting," he said.

Her shoes stood out red against the dark wood of the stoop. "I know."

He paused. "I can't come any closer than this."

"I know."

He went quiet. Sebastian was never one to waste words. Gritting her teeth, Grelle looked up, mustering the courage to ask him why—why was he here, why had he come for her at all, much less waited outside for a week—but then she met his eyes and all the words went out of her. He hadn't changed. That strange Sebastian, the new one, the one who'd stayed with her for two straight days, kissed her, made promises and said such sweet things was still there, looking in every way as though it was taking a great deal of effort to remain where he was. Out of reach. He offered his hand.

Grelle set her Death Scythe down, placed the collection sheets carefully on top, and descended the steps. What was she doing? This was madness. The look in his eyes, though. It was sincere. She was sure.

As soon as she was within his reach, he grabbed her—pulled her well clear and away from the boundary of Dispatch and locked her in his arms. Already he was pressing his mouth to hers, frenzied kiss after kiss. Startled, Grelle jolted, tried to wriggle away, but he was strong. She got free of his lips for but a moment.

"Sebastian."

He silenced her, but now she knew how to escape.

"Sebastian, _stop_."

She managed to get her face far enough from his, to get her hands up to hold him away. What on _earth_ was going on? She stared at him in shock.

"Grelle, please."

He looked back at her with such desperation the color drained from her skin. He'd lost his mind. She'd never seen him like this—never seen him vulnerable. But it was genuine. For whatever reason, he made it seem as though his very life would flicker and go out. Her heart beat fast in fear.

"Sebastian, you're scaring me."

He could offer no explanation. He just stared, a dull ache eating away at the back of his gaze. What else was she supposed to do?

She touched her lips to his and he made this noise at the back of his throat like she'd hurt him, so she pulled away, and swiftly, but he held her head in place, his lips just fractions from her own.

" _Please._ "

His eyes were shut, his brows drawn together with his whispered plea. She couldn't bear to see him like this. It made her heart hurt.

Afraid though she was, she softened the force by which she'd held him at bay, moved her hands up behind his neck and lifted herself the short distance between them to meet his lips. He made that sound again, whether out of pain or pleasure she still was unsure, but she pressed on in spite of it. A moment later, he kissed her back, and impressively, but she was in charge. He followed her lead. What a feeling it was to be directing Sebastian Michaelis.

Who could say how many seconds, minutes flew off in the breakneck embrace but her breath came heavily when she finally decided to pull back. He still held her close, warm. She liked the feeling of his arms around her back, her chest pressed against his. She kissed him once more, as insurance.

When he finally opened his eyes, he smiled down at her and the expression was so different from before that it made her laugh.

"What's gotten into you?" she asked.

"It's you, Grelle," he replied, taking her hand in his and lifting it to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. "I nearly drove myself mad thinking about you, waiting."

So had she.

"Why me?"

"I don't know. And I know that's not the most romantic answer, but I don't understand it either. All I know is that I need you."

She pursed her lips. Was she falling into some kind of trap? Did Sebastian want something? Information, the use of her Death Scythe, access to Shinigami records? He could be up to anything, and had been up to everything, but if it was a trap, what a sweet, sweet trap indeed.

She smiled and he kissed her.

"Run away with me, Grelle Sutcliff."

"I have to work."

"Leave it."

She looked at him. "I can't. It's part of who I am."

He seemed to understand that. He met her eyes and studied her through them for a moment, hunting down the little fragmented pieces of a person that she was. She could only stand a few seconds of the scrutiny before she flicked her eyes away, inhaling deeply, realizing she'd been holding her breath.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No."

He stroked her face, looked her over like a protective mother would her young, searching for insult or injury so he could right them. She'd never known a demon to be so affectionate. She shut her eyes for a moment and let a deep breath escape her lungs.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You're turning into everything I'd once imagined you to be, and it's wonderful, but I'm afraid it won't last."

"Why?"

It was such an innocent question, asked as though he truly could not comprehend a reason why they should not or would not remain together—like he'd forgotten who he was, who she was, what they were, and who they had been. And perhaps he had, but _she_ hadn't. And that's where it counted. In her own heart.

"I have souls to collect, Sebastian," she said, and moved away, slipping out of his arms and going to retrieve her chainsaw.

He stepped after her. "May I go with you?"

She halted. Go with her? A demon on soul collection? "William will have a cow."

"I understand, but I will not act unless it is to help you. I don't want to leave your side, Grelle. That is all."

She picked up her papers, her Death Scythe, turned to face him on the stoop. Probably—no, _definitely_ they were being watched, probably had been since she'd stepped out the door. By now every Shinigami in the English Division of Dispatch would have heard about her little tryst. A demon and a reaper. She couldn't even guess at what titillating stories were fluttering through the halls even as she stood and studied him—though there was probably nothing a Shinigami could think up to improve a rumor that she and Sebastian hadn't already done. She was in deep. If nothing else, it would pay to keep an eye on him.

She swung her chainsaw up onto her shoulder and descended the steps. "All right, then. You can come. But stay out of the way unless I ask for your help, got it?"

He looked like a kid at Christmas when he nodded. "Yes."

"Good. This way."

Making a gesture down the street with her head, Grelle started off. Sebastian came instantly to her side, following so loyally she probably could have walked into a lamppost and he would have done the same. What had she gotten herself into?


	5. Part 5

Watching Grelle was like watching one of the great master painters at work on a canvas. It had never before occurred to Sebastian that he had not actually seen her on collection, doing her job as it was meant to be done. All prior circumstances of their meeting each other were either on the extreme or when Grelle was not working, whether that was to avoid work itself or not, and he had always wondered how, when she seemed to bungle everything up, she had managed to keep her job. But he wondered no more. She worked swiftly, silently, severing souls with the blade of her Scythe as he looked on from a distance, curious what it was she saw in those Records, curious what she would need to see to declare a soul too good to die, curious if she had ever done so. He marveled at the cold, cruel beauty that was this death goddess.

She removed her Scythe from the chest of a man who had been lying in the street when she'd found him—homeless, sick, and dying—and made a few notes on the file she held in her other hand, emotionless. When the last of the man's record disappeared, Sebastian came forward.

"Do you enjoy this?" he asked.

"It isn't my place to like or dislike what I do," she replied and closed the file to look up at him. "I'm a grim reaper, so I collect souls. It is the purpose of my existence."

"And what was the purpose of this man's existence?"

She looked at him for a moment in silence before the slightest of wry smiles appeared at the corner of her mouth.

"To be food for demons, perhaps," she replied and put the file away in her coat.

Oh, he hadn't the slightest idea what to make of her. She was a mess of conflicted emotions. He'd seen it in her eyes. She knew what she wanted, but did not feel she deserved it, and perhaps that wasn't far from the truth, but Sebastian knew what he wanted as well and he had no moral compass that would stop him taking any means to obtain it.

"I'm finished now," she said, starting off down the street without him. "I need to return the files and my Death Scythe to Dispatch."

"And then?"

She paused, looked back at him over her shoulder. "And then we'll see."

They were together every day from then on out.


End file.
